Little Is Not Nothing

Grandma always said, "Emmah… don't guard crumbs while you can have a whole loaf."

My grandmother believed in abundance with the confidence of a woman who had held meetings with heaven, negotiated with hardship, and still came home with extra food for tomorrow.

She believed there was enough. Enough chances. Enough love. Enough grace for a fresh start. Enough room at the table for everybody to eat without staring suspiciously into somebody else's plate.

If you have been feeling behind lately, or holding on so tightly that nothing can grow, pull up a chair. Grandma has something to say.

MY MONEY WAS RESTING. RESTING HARD.

There was a season when I handled money like a woman assigned to guard the last surviving coin on earth. Every little bit I saved went straight into protective custody.

When people said, "You should put your money somewhere it can grow," I smiled politely while my inner voice screamed, Grow into what? A tragic lesson? I didn't hear "opportunity." I heard danger with paperwork.

I would open my banking app just to check the money was still there, as if it might put on shoes and leave while I was making tea.

Still there. Still safe. Still not growing, but praise God, still breathing.

I called it being careful, responsible, mature. But one day I had to face the truth: I wasn't just saving money. I was worshipping safety. I was so afraid of loss that I had become unavailable for growth.

Grandma would have seen right through me. "Yes, it is still there," she'd have said, "but is it doing anything?"

Stop counting other people's portions

Scarcity, Grandma said, is not always about having little. Sometimes it is about thinking little. It whispers: There's not enough. You're too late. They got it, so now you won't. It acts like the whole universe is down to its last chicken wing.

I felt it in another season too, when everyone around me seemed to be moving ahead: new jobs, engagements, trips, "grateful and humbled" posts in perfect lighting, while I sat at home in an old T-shirt. Why not me? Did I miss my moment?

Then I heard her voice: "What belongs to you has your name on it. Stop counting other people's portions."

Grandma taught abundance in three languages, and she was fluent in all of them:

When it came to money, scarcity asked, "How can I make sure nothing changes?" Grandma answered, "Little is not nothing." She encouraged me to ask, "What can this become?"

When it came to love, scarcity whispered, "This might be all I get." Grandma reminded me, "Love is not a pie," and warned me to stop trying to turn scraps into a feast.

When it came to faith, scarcity insisted, "There is no help left for me." Grandma would have answered, "God is not rationing mercy with a teaspoon."

And when it came to other people’s success, scarcity claimed, "Their win is my loss." Grandma saw it differently: "Their rain is not stealing your sunlight."

And one more, for every time comparison tiptoes in: "You cannot water your own garden while spending all day counting somebody else's flowers."

OPENING MY HANDS, SLOWLY

I didn't change overnight. There was no movie montage where I suddenly thrived in matching loungewear with a colour-coded planner. But I started practising what Grandma taught:

I started by listing what was already working. Instead of counting only what was missing, I made an effort to notice what was present. Little is not nothing, and recognising what I already had helped me see that I was not starting from zero.

I also began celebrating other people on purpose. When a friend experienced a win, I made a point of clapping for them. Their blessing did not block mine, and I did not need to treat somebody else’s good news as evidence that I was being left behind.

I learned to ask, "What can this become?" I looked at my savings, my skills and my time, and considered what they might grow into with a little direction. Rather than seeing only their current size, I began thinking about their potential.

At the same time, I reminded myself to learn before leaping. Grandma never meant that I should be reckless. I did not throw money at every shiny opportunity. I read, asked questions and grew wiser before I made a move.

I also became more careful about the words I used. Saying, "I’ll never get ahead," is a prophecy I did not want to keep repeating. As Grandma put it, "Do not curse your own house with your mouth."

And slowly, something shifted. I became lighter, more focused, less bitter, more hopeful. Abundance started inside before it showed up outside.

A CLOSED HAND CANNOT RECEIVE

If Grandma were here, she would lean back, look at me over the rim of her teacup, and say:

"Baby, life opens differently for people who believe there is more. More to learn, more to build, more to heal, more to receive. Do not live grabbing, fearing, shrinking, and doubting."

Abundance isn't greed, and it isn't pretending hardship isn't real. It is a deep, stubborn confidence that life is not over just because today is small. It is something you practise: a way of living with open hands, an open heart and open expectation.

So here is my question for you: where in your life have you been guarding crumbs? Your money, your heart, your dreams? What is one thing you could open your hands to this week?

Share in the comments. And if a friend has a win this week, go and clap for them loudly.

There's much more of Grandma's wisdom on abundance and scarcity in Grandma Always Said.

Because the minute you believe there is never enough, you start starving in rooms that are already full.

With love,

Emmah